Of The Unknown
by 90TheGeneral09
Summary: A year later, Alex thinks about the aftermath of his and Eric's actions, from the 'other side'.


**De L'Iconnue**

**3-10-2011**

**A year later, Alex thinks about the aftermath of his and Eric's actions, from the 'other side'.**

It's been about a year. A whole three hundred and sixty five days, give or take, since I shot my way into the newspapers and naturally, the idiots got it all wrong. All kinds of myths, misinformation, rumors, so much of it now regarded as fact by too many people. Some of the ones who have at least a piece of the truth won't say anything, don't want to have any part of the aftermath, and while I'd say they have a right to- they should, after what I put them through- it keeps the story from being told for what it is.

Far more than otherwise, the morons were wrong about me. Sure, there were those bands I listened to, and yeah, I played the violent video games some feel are going to be the end of all civilization. Then there was my anger, and my well-hidden but nonetheless evident record of it- which some seem to think means I was a soulless psychopath, incapable of being pissed off for anything but selfish reasons. Each rumor has a small glint of truth, each piece forming a part of the entire puzzle. But they haven't got all the facts. They're not holding all the cards.

I've still got a few.

And they'll never know why.

No, indeed, they won't. Not my parents- not like they talk to each other much anyway, so have fun trying to get a story straight between the two of them- not my friends, or anybody else I ever knew or was known by. Some of them have made sincere efforts towards finding out why I did what I did, and why Eric helped me. Most have just done their best to move on, which is about all any of them have been able to do. But nobody ever _really_ moves on from something like this; not really. Someone will always be wondering, but I couldn't say anything even if I wanted to. Neither could Eric. But, like me, he doesn't seem to mind. I think the both of us still have our own questions about what we did, our own curiosities.

Because, really, even _we_ don't really know. We're not too sure of it ourselves these days. Eric and I don't regret what we did; it's not that. We knew what we were getting ourselves into, what we were about to do. We knew that the day after we had our revenge, millions would curse our names. We knew, each in our own way, what course fate would take.

But what _exactly_ drove us to do what we did? What _single reason_ did Eric and I have for coming up with our plan for V-Day? Vengeance Day, we called it. Eric and I had a lot of laughs over that; we thought the name so fitting. We loved ourselves for being so clever. We were smarter than everybody else; better. More than them, we lived on a higher plane of existence.

Who knows? Maybe there _is_ no one, single reason.

I just decided to do it one day; I just made up my mind that that's what I was going to do with my life. I was angry, yes, but I hated myself more than anyone else ever could've. I killed, yes, but the one I wanted dead most was me. Ultimately, maybe I did it because I dismissed the ones who talked about such thoughts, such mental struggles as I went through before resolving to do what I did, as weak. I laughed at the ones who impulsively attempted suicide and went through a recovery process, ignored the fact that many managed to move on and make something of themselves. I resolved that I would end the battle waging in my mind on my terms. I decided I would rely on no one but myself. And, well, we all know where that led.

And Eric? I think, in his own way, he figures it was just the same for him, too. If nothing else, he one day just decided to do it. V-Day was just what he figured on doing with his life.

It wasn't until he- we all know who he is- wrote that essay that appeared on that TV star's website that I saw someone really, and truly, want to know why with no hatred towards me. That journalist, he was a man looking for truthful answers; not easy ones. It hit me hard, that paper. I honestly didn't believe, when I stood there in the school cafeteria kitchen with Eric and pulled the trigger on my rifle, that there was anybody left in the world who gave half a fuck. I was sure there wasn't a thing I'd be leaving behind, that there wasn't a person in the world who'd mind my departure. In the aftermath, I learned many facts about _them_ just as they learned many facts about me.

You can do that, when you're like this.

I've learned a lot since I came to the 'other side', wherever it is I am now. There were a lot of unexpected things, some not so expected, other revelations that I never could've seen coming.

One thing I should have expected- but didn't- was just how happy Eric was that I spared him. That bizarre moment while we shot up the school together, when he was telling me how he killed Mr. Luce… I nearly shot Eric. I didn't know why then and I don't know now. It just seemed like a good thing to do at the time. But I changed my mind; at the last moment I did. And Eric was just so stunned that I'd even considered it; he couldn't even begin to understand why I'd ever stop being his friend.

I think I escaped something very bad by not shooting Eric. Had I killed Eric, and seen him again here… I don't think I could have looked him in the eye. I'm glad I chose otherwise, because it's quite possible Eric would have never understood being betrayed like that.

It surprises me, in a way, but I really am glad we were friends. And that we still are.

Something I learned from dying- death by gunshot is indeed quick. The pain is blinding, but it doesn't last for even a full second.

When I got to the 'other side', it was kind of like waking up from a deep sleep. There was a lot of white; the ground beneath me felt kind of sandy. Off in the distance, I could see somebody curled up, sleeping. Vaguely, I noticed the shape seemed familiar. Getting up, I walked over towards whoever it was.

I glanced around me about then; the white, sandy ground and pale sky stretched on, seemingly forever. Wind howled, making a strangely hollow sound; but I didn't feel any wind on my back. A sun of some kind shone above, but I felt no harshness or heat. It wasn't hot or cold, or any of those things. It all simply _was_; same for me, and this other person. We were just _there_.

Then I stood over the sleeping figure; sure enough, it was Eric, dressed just the same as I last saw him.

"Eric," I said quietly, "Hey, man." I knelt by him, gently shaking his shoulder.

Eric blinked, sitting up and looking around. He stretched a little and groaned; almost reflexively, he suddenly put his hand on the back of his head- where the 9mm gunshot wound should have been. His hand came away clean, and he looked at me in confusion. "Dude," he said, "What the fuck?"

I just shrugged. Eric always was a bit slow on the uptake; I could see that hadn't much changed, even here. Wherever 'here' might happen to be.

Then comprehension slowly dawned on Eric's face; he looked up at me, suddenly happy. "Dude!" Eric jumped up, hugging me tight and grinning. "Aw, man. Fuck, Alex! Fuck!"

He just didn't seem to know what to say; Eric never was much of a talker. But he was clearly happy to see me. And for my part, there weren't many I'd have rather met on the 'other side' either.

"You're the best friend I got in the world, man," he said after a minute of us looking around. "I'm glad I'm not alone."

After a few moments, I said, "Yeah, me too." I meant it.

We've done a lot of thinking since then; a lot of experimenting, and figuring out just where we are and what we can do here. There's actually a lot of things we can; our minds are more free here, and more powerful. And we can see the world we left when we want to- sometimes we can even visit it. But neither me nor Eric can ever make ourselves known. We can't talk to anybody, or anything like that. Maybe in time we'll figure out how… or maybe we can't because we don't really want to.

I think Eric doesn't really understand why people are saying we're such bad guys now. He doesn't quite see the connection; in his eyes, we're good friends who did what we wanted to do with our lives. It goes no farther than that. Some people would mock Eric for that, for being so simple- and sometimes, a little stupid. But he's loyal. When Eric decides to be a friend of yours, he'll be there as long as you want him around- and sometimes, when you need him around but only he knows it. He trusts his instincts like I trust my intuition; for Eric everything is always simple. All questions have an answer… but the things he doesn't understand baffle him. That's where he turns to me.

I think sometimes I wonder if I really did the right thing- if I would do it all again if I had the chance to go back. For Eric, though, it's simple: we did do what we should have. He doesn't regret anything. I think, in many ways, he was angrier than me- he had more wrongs he wanted to pay everybody back for before he went.

But I made my choice. I made it, and it won't ever fully fade from memories of those who knew me before and those who heard of me afterward. The same goes for Eric; all the same things apply to him. He made is choice, too. We knew what we were doing. And we have no regrets. We did what we wanted to do; that's all.

I guess we're gonna be here a while; good thing the both of us have good company for the wait, and plenty to do with our time. But there's always something to think about; always another question. The other world, the one we left, is only more so. Where we've got a few questions or thoughts about what happened, the old world has a million. I couldn't change that even if I wanted to; the questions will always be there. Theirs, and mine.

But they'll never know why.


End file.
